Lab Rats and Artistic Souls
by Generic Chimera
Summary: Nick finds out something unexpected that his arson victim and Greg have in common...preslash


Title: Lab Rats and Artistic Souls

Author: Chimera

Disclaimer: The characters of Nick Stokes and Greg Sanders do not belong to me; they belong to the creators of CSI, which off the top of my head is probably CBS.

* * *

"So you're telling me the only way she was identified was by a tattoo on her shoulder?" Nick asked skeptically. 

Warrick nodded. "Apparently the roommate was with her when she got it done. Good thing too – it wasn't as if she could be recognised by her facial features."

Nick almost winced, remembering the black, sooty mess that fire had made of the girl's face. "Good thing she got that done…but why would you?"

Warrick sent him a look. "Why would you what?"

"Get a tattoo?" Nick shrugged. "Seems like a waste of cash and needless pain to me."

The other CSI just shook his head as he veered off to the break room. "You just haven't got an artistic soul, Nick."

Nick coughed quietly as he entered the lab, for once his thoughts not overpowered by the loud music usually coming from the domain of one Greg Sanders, Laboratory Technician.

Found most often in actual labs, they were on occasion surprised on breaks in the room designated for staff ingestion of various foodstuffs. They were expected to finish work quietly, quickly and accurately, and not much else. Lab techs, in general, were quiet, curious and smart.

As Nick silently observed the specimen of Laboratory Technician in front of him, he wondered to what extent that was true on the account of one Greg Sanders.

He was quiet now – one of the few times a month, reading a magazine Nick could not definitively identify as non-Playboy. The rock music coming from 'his' lab 90 of the time testified that he was generally not a quiet soul. Greg could without a doubt be called curious – if he was a cat he had probably used up his lives within the first day of working nightshift at the Vegas crime lab. And smart – Greg could most certainly be called smart. Two out of three isn't bad, Nick thought idly as he sneaked up behind Greg.

"Whatcha reading?"

Greg nearly fell out of his chair.

"Jesus Chri-" Greg quickly composed himself as he turned and saw it was Nick, staring at him in amusement. "Well." There was a pause. "Now that I've ruined any possible coolness remaining in my reputation…what do you want?"

"Whatcha reading?" Nick persisted.

"Nothing."

That just increased Nick's curiosity. Greg was Not Shy. Capitals were required.

"C'mon, what are you reading?"

Greg slid the magazine into a drawer before Nick could see the front cover. "Nothing now," he grinned. "What are you doing, skulking around doin' nothing?"

"Well, I could be helping out with Grissom's investigation…"

"But?"

"But I don't want to donate blood to his mosquitoes."

"Good idea."

There was a pause.

"Did you have anything for me?"

Nick leant on the side of Greg's bench, crossing his arms and absently noting that where Greg was sitting made him at eyelevel to his navel. "Not per se."

Greg raised his gaze from Nick's bellybutton to stare at Nick in that mock-insolent way Greg had perfected. "I figured you CSIs were always busy."

"No, just finished. Girl got identified, so we can't do much until Dr. Robbins examines her."

"Ooh, the arson case?" Nick nodded. "How exactly did she get identified? I can't imagine that the fire made her any more pretty."

"Tattoo on her shoulder, roommate saw her get it done." Nick paused, a confused look on his face. "I still don't know why you'd get a tattoo, though. Warrick says I just don't have an artistic soul, whatever that means."

Greg smiled, glancing down at the ground. "No, that's your Texas hick roots thinking the only people with tattoos are punks and Hell's Angels. They are available to normal people like you and me, you know."

Nick stared at him, before he broke out into a smile. "Where is it?"

Greg at least had the modesty to look slightly confused. "What?"

"Your tattoo."

Raising an eyebrow, Greg leaned closer to Nick. Close enough so that his breath tickled Nick's bellybutton, and sent strange tingles down Nick's spine.

"Now, you have two options. One, you get me drunk and force me to show you. Two, you take me out to dinner, and I might show you afterwards."

It was Nick's turn to look confused. "Are you hitting on me?"

Greg leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and lifting his feet to the tabletop. "That depends, Nicky." He grinned. "Option one, or option two?"

Gil Grissom poked his head in the door, sliding a bag full of cotton swabs across the table. "Greg, do these for me. Run them against Ashleigh Kai-Johnson, serving twelve to twenty for armed robbery at the Vegas prison." He then turned his attention to Nick. "Warrick was looking for you, apparently one of the firefighters remembered something else."

When neither of them moved, he raised an eyebrow. "Hop to it."

"One or two?" Greg asked again, just as Nick was exiting the lab.

There were a few moments of silence as Nick mulled it over.

"Two."


End file.
